


Hissing Wastes

by Halkyon_Blade



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Romance, Scene from the game, Sera will be Sera, Thedas geography is a thing, artistic liberties with Dorian's abilities, everyone is manly, hissing wastes mission, just not MY thing, kind of, please be kind, what are tags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-12
Updated: 2016-11-12
Packaged: 2018-08-30 11:23:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8531137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Halkyon_Blade/pseuds/Halkyon_Blade
Summary: Mala Noe Lavellan and Co. are very much not enjoying their trip to the Hissing Wastes. Enter a disaster of a fight with a group of Venatory, a half dead Lavellan, sand in his hair and Dorian is done with this shit, thank-you-very-much. H/c and fluff ensues. (Second Chapter is a small dictionary I compiled for laughs for the sake of my reader friends that  do not know DA lore.)





	1. Hissing Wastes

**Author's Note:**

> Mala Noe Lavellan: http://tinypic.com/r/2aieteu/9  
> (if link doesn't work drop me a comment and I'll fix it)
> 
> The fight scene is told almost exactly as it happened within the game (with a few artistic liberties for the sake of story-telling). I was butchering my way through the Hissing Wastes and this happened. I dropped the game immediately and wrote this, it was too good a scene not to retell with an inhumane ammount of H/C in it. Please enjoy.
> 
> A big THANK YOU to my Beta friend that went through the whole thing and pointed out mistakes even though she knew nothing about DA. All remaining mistakes are solely mine.

The sand was everywhere. Gusts of singing wind picked up handfuls of it, spreading it across the Wastes, smoothing out any footprints of living beings treading across the desert. It was beautiful, overall. They had arrived at the first outpost camp not long after the scorching sun had gone down beyond the huge rocks that passed for mountains in the horizon. The moon, full and bright lit the way through the desert and the chill that fell over the land cooled the boiling sand as it crunched beneath their boots. At least one good thing about living in a mountain castle, surrounded by endless snowy peaks was that they felt comfortable, almost content, as the temperature rapidly decreased. Well, most of them...   
  
Mala Noe was tempted to regret bringing along the companions he did. Dorian’s face was locked in an endless scowl, grumping in between sarcastic comments as he shivered in the midnight cold, cursing beneath his breath in any language available (was that Tevene, the Trade Tongue, or even a couple of languages unknown to the Inquisitor). One time he even caught the man using a string of Elven, no doubt picked up from Mala Noe’s own not so brighter of moments. It almost brought a smile to his lips, and his heart gave a little flutter at the familiar words coming out of that mouth, butchered accent be damned. Vivienne was slightly more subtle in her dislike of the place, occasionally throwing off-handed comments about the state of her skin or clothing. At least they followed with little more complain, and that’s all that mattered. Sera was the only one whose comments were more targeted towards the view and the location in general. It was a welcome change, lighthearted nonsense as Sera’s commentary usually was.

Not long after they set out to locate the Venatori, did they meet a huntress, bend over a recently gutted Bronto, cleaning her game. She was friendly, even though they were strangers to her, and she answered their questions without much thought. She even warned them about strange Templar sightings in the area, although she obviously had no idea what a Red Templar was. One had to admire a hunter’s instincts.

\----

Mala Noe clenched his fingers tightly, his knuckles numb as he attempted to rid οι of the familiar sting the presence of a nearby Rift caused to shoot up his arm, the Mark sparkling and glowing. He also attempted to lessen the degree of brightness of the thing by covering it, lest it would give their presence away to all and any enemy in the area. They were prepared for Rifts when they traveled to the desert, they always were prepared for Rifts, but it never became easier. Especially since it appeared the local ones were a special challenge. He despised Pride demons. They did not match well with his affinity for electricity.

A set of fingers landed softly on his arm, causing his head to turn, only to come face to face with Dorian. Poorly hidden worry danced behind his grey eyes and the sand peppered along his hairline gave him a deliciously tousled look. Mala Noe offered him a tiny smile. He could never hide from the other mage’s keen eyes, it seemed. 

“Are you alright, amatus?” Dorian whispered. The Inquisitor nodded slightly, his free hand coming up to touch Dorian’s.  
  
“I am fine, don’t worry about me.” The grey eyes seemed to spark as annoyance blended within the rest of the emotions openly displayed in them.

“You know I can’t do that. I always worry, as would you, in my position.” And yeah, well, he had him there.

Dorian’s skill with his bladed staff was remarkable, the mage able to hold himself in both close quarters and from a distance. If unable to rain fire or terror on his targets, he would simply slash through them with his blade. Still, Mala Noe was on edge every time they set out, his gaze hovering a little more than it was necessary towards Dorian when in combat. He couldn’t help it, and they both knew it. He sighed, relenting.

“The mark stings.” he offered. “It is not that bad, nothing unbearable, just… unpleasant.”  he finished lamely. Dorian’s stare softened. They both knew there was nothing any of them could do about that, but it still pained Dorian to feel so… unhelpful. The inquisitor waved his hand, his seemingly undeterred smile a little bit wider.

“It is of no matter, really. We only have to slaughter a couple of demons and close a few Fade holes and all will be better.”

Dorian huffed, a smirk forming on his own lips as he crossed his arms in front of him. “Such a grand way you have with words, Inquisitor, it is a wonder the world has not been saved already. Inspiring.” It earned him a laugh from the blond elf, and a weight seemingly lifted from the necromancer’s shoulders.

Sera’s voice from ahead interrupted whatever Mala Noe was about to reply.

“Oi, lovebirds, quit slobbering, will ya? There is a camp ahead, put yer tongues back in yer own mouths and come on.”   
  
Despite the fact that no ‘slobbering’ had taken place, Dorian bristled and the elf laughed at her wording. Noe wondered if the mage was blushing as he turned his scowl towards the girl to sass back at her. He was unable to tell in the cover of the night, however. In a quick motion he wrapped his fingers around one of the belts that held Dorian’s complicated robes in place and pulled him down, a well placed kiss effectively silencing the other as he leaned into the Inquisitor. They had no time to make it last though, so they separated quickly, turning to scale up the slope to the rest of the team.

A Venatori patrol camp, mostly empty. It should be an easy target. Mala Noe looked around at his companions and signaled, the assault following the usual plan, and they nodded in acknowledgment. Activating his [ enchanted ring ](http://dragonage.wikia.com/wiki/Ring_of_Doubt), a stealth cloak covered the elf as he walked closer to the Venatori agents, preparing his spell and assessing the situation.

A Spellbinder, and a Gladiator strolled along the small temporary tents, hidden in the shadow of the sandy hills around. A little further away a Stalker, observing the dark horizon. There was no way to gather them together, so the Inquisitor turned to the more immediate threats. Pulling on his magic he called upon lighting, surrounding the enemies in the camp with a static cage, effectively blocking the warrior’s way as he dodged a fireball from the Spellbinder. WIth quick steps he turned towards the Stalker that seemed to have realised the presence of enemies and paralyzed him with a flash, stopping him in his tracks and revealing his position for Sera to pick apart with her arrows. Dorian and the rest of the team wasted no time to throw themselves in the battle, Vivienne calling upon her spectral blade and running towards the Venatori Spellbinder as the inquisitor held the towering Gladiator back with ice and lighting. A flash in his peripheral vision revealed the necromancer a few steps away, graceful movements raining hell upon his victims, his Spirit Marks shining as he slammed the magic into their bodies.

It was a vicious fight, the darkness giving both a disadvantage and a cover to the two sides. Sera growled at the other end of the campsite as she grappled with the rogue who had gotten a little too close, the hilt of a dagger slamming her on the nose and effectively blinding her momentarily. Vivienne’s shield protected her long enough for her to roll back, avoiding a mortal wound as the enemy slipped into the shadows. Mala Noe had no openings to run to her rescue. He ducked to avoid yet another burst of fire from the pages of the cursed book in the Spellbinder’s hands, fighting as he was to keep the Gladiator away from him and Dorian, most of their spells repelled by the giant tower shield in the man’s hands. He backed away, the glint of the massive mace approaching too close for his tastes. Then he slipped.

His foot caught in the sand, the give of the footing beneath him stealing a couple of precious seconds as the next flaming projectile got his thigh. He stumbled with a breath, the mace slamming upon him and throwing him like a ragdoll a couple of feet away, his head swimming. Dorian’s next explosion stopped the mace wielder from advancing upon them any further, giving Vivienne the chance to catch up with them and flank him. Noe grit his teeth as he gathered his bearings and got up, too aware of the bite from his cracked ribs. Raising his staff he delivered the final blow swiftly, freezing the Gladiator solid. He watched as the spirit slipped from the frosted corpse. Dorian’s necromantic bindings had turned it against the mage still firing spells from within the camp, and the elf allowed himself a relieved breath. His full attention could now be diverted to the Venatori Spellbinder before him, watching wary as Vivienne nearly cut the enemy in two with her spirit blade. A groan escaped his lips before he could hold it back, the burning wound on his leg and his bruised ribs sending shivers of pain up his spine with the slightest of movements. He backed away, growling a warning towards Dorian.   
  
“I’m falling ba--”

He didn’t hear Sera’s curse from across the camp, nor Vivienne’s shouted warning, the blasts around him as he avoided fire tuning out all other sounds. Nor did he hear in time Dorian’s panicked shout. Not before the dagger slipped past the ridges of his light armor, burying itself in between his ribs. He had forgotten about the Stalker.

“NO!”

He went down with a pained sound, blood splattering from the wound and staining his leather tunic as the enemy removed the blade with a harsh tug. White hot agony blinded him. Or maybe that was just Dorian’s flames as he run into the rogue, piercing him through the back with his staff blade and burning him from the inside out with an explosion. Flames burst from the man’s eyes as he fell into the sand, rolling down the slope into a burning, mauled mess. Nobody gave the corpse a second glance.   
  
“No. No no no no…” It was all Mala Noe could hear, Dorian’s voice ringing above the white noise in his ears, as the man ran to his side. His lung hurt, blood rushing and pooling inside his chest from where the blade had ripped into the soft tissue, every breath an inferno. Trembling hands were on his face, cupping his cheeks carefully, and he slowly cracked open his eyes. The man’s face was hazy, but the panic in his features was all too clear. He choked, tasting copper. His voice came out a whimper, any words lost in his pain.   
  
“Amatus, stay with me. You will be alright, you hear me? Stay with me.” Dorian babbled, as he uncorked a potion vial with his teeth, nudging the tube to bloodstained lips and forcing the bitter liquid down the elf’s throat. His voice was unrecognizable as he cradled the blond head, shaking him a little when his eyes threatened to close. The relieving, numbing chill that spread inside him from the potion had almost pulled him under.   
  
Voices could be heard closing in, the unmistakable string of unique curses that could only be Sera becoming louder, until they reached the pair.   
  
“Vivienne, please…!” Dorian addressed the Enchantress, words cracking in distress as he spoke them. The Necromancer had in the past expressed his regret about his lack of talent in healing magic. The nature of necromancy similar but distinctly different, prevented him from branching out to spirit healing. But as  much as he regretted the fact in the past, nothing could compare to the soul splinting pain he could feel clawing in his chest as he held the bleeding elf in his hands, all his power and magic completely useless. He swallowed down a sob.

Noe could almost feel palpable in the air the guilt and despair coming out of the man in waves, as Vivienne’s glowing hands hovered above his wound. She was no healer, but her magic would be enough to stabilise him. He would be alright. His hand was sleek with his own blood as he reached out for Dorian, fingers finding his wrist and squeezing. It was weak, but the motion seemed to be enough, the Tevinter mage’s eyes focusing on that.   
  
“Oh, amatus….”

The elf offered a tiny smile before his eyelids fluttered close. Darkness consumed him in a sudden, crashing wave.

\----

Dorian froze when the Inquisitor went limp in his arms, the hand holding his wrist slipping down to land upon the sand, lifeless. No, no, it wasn’t happening. His fingers scrambled to latch onto Noe’s carotid, willing the tremor to stop in order to feel for a pulse. It was there. It was faint and slow, fluttering with each short breath, but it was there. His eyes found Vivienne’s alert ones, and he nodded with a watery shigh.

“Is he… is he alive?” Sera whispered from behind them, her hands clutching at her bow uselessly.  
  
“He is, my dear. He will live.” Even Vivienne looked rattled, and that was not an easy thing to accomplice.

“Oh good…!” Sera breathed, relieved, wiping some of the blood from her broken nose.

The Enchantress’ hands gradually stopped glowing, and Dorian was glad to notice that a more steady breathing pattern was visible as the elf’s chest moved. It still sounded rattling if you leaned close, but it was better than nothing. Carefully, to avoid any more liquid from reaching his lungs, he slipped one more potion down the unconscious elf’s throat.

With gentle, careful hands, Dorian maneuvered the Inquisitor into his arms, picking him up with an arm behind his back and one beneath his knees, forehead balanced on the crook of his neck. Vivienne picked up the discarded staff that had slipped from Mala Noe’s hands when he fell, and she followed the rest of them. She brought up the rear as Sera walked ahead, her bow on the ready.

\---------

The room was spinning, candle light a bit too bright on Mala Noe’s sensitive eyes, disrupting his attempts to open them fully. His body felt heavy and asleep, limbs numb and slow in responding. And then there was the fire, in his chest and at his side, flames flickering with every movement. He groaned.

“Amatus?”

“Dorian…” he croaked, cringing at the sound. “...Skyhold?”

“Yes.” the man replied as he came closer. Mala Noe could feel his presence as the necromancer took a seat besides him, taking his hand between his own. “How are you feeling?”  
  
“Like a snowflake in a dragon’s gut.” he replied, and his attempt at sass earned him a snort.

“Oh, that doesn’t sound that bad now, does it. A special little snowflake. WIth possibly unnatural heat resistance.” Dorian, never one to back out from an opportunity to sass.  
  
“Aren’t you a joy.” He already felt better, Dorian’s presence soothing him, relaxing him. Until he attempted to rise, that is.

The sound of pure agony that left his lips was something Dorian wished he would never hear again, ever. If possible, he wished he could forget he ever did, actually. His hands pushed on the lithe shoulders, forcing the weakened elf back down with disturbing ease. 

“Are you insane? Stay down, you restless idiot.”

“Mmmm” was all he got in reply, as the other could only moan weakly in pain.   
  
“I will tie you to this bed if I have to.” The crazy elf could only smirk at that, even in his condition.

“Oh, will you now, great Magister Pavus?” he rasped. His eyes turned sultry, as much suggestion as possible dripping from his raw throat.  
  
“Altus.” Dorian quipped back, suppressing a shiver. “You are in no condition what-so-ever to suggest anything, your Inquisitorialness, so stay down and be good.”

“Yes, sir.” came the chuckling answer. Noe hissed as his breath suddenly caught in his throat, his chest feeling restricted, his ribs flaring in protest. His hand immediately found Dorian’s in an effort to ground his senses somewhere that was not everything that was wrong with his battered body. Dorian closed his fingers around the elf’s, thumb rubbing small soothing circles on his knuckles as the other attempted to crash the necromancer’s fingers in his grasp.  

  
“Hey, easy, amatus. Calm yourself. That’s it… Take it easy.” His voice visibly relaxed the elf and Dorian had absolutely no qualms about using that at the best of his ability. He would strip bare and dance around like a fool without a second thought if he had to, if it meant the pained ridges along those sky blue eyes would smooth out sooner rather than later.

“Say… Dorian…” the inquisitor said when he found his voice and his breath again. “How long has it been…?”

“It has been almost a week since the Wastes.” the elf’s eyes widened.  
  
“But...the Venatori…!”   
  
“Have no worries about that.  The lady Cassandra and Bull took our places in the group. We had the scouts send word while in Griffon Keep. We had enough information for them to take the members stationed at the Wastes out.”   
  
“You… didn’t go?” It earned him a halfhearted glare.   
  
“How could I possibly go?” His voice was harsh, but it held fear. Fear Mala Noe had come to recognise from miles, unfortunately. Dorian should not be afraid of anything, ever. “We brought you back because you were in desperate need of a spirit healer. That was two days ago. Yet you still did not wake up…! The fever... “ the mage run a hand through his hair. “Blood had pooled into your lungs, an infection settled in. It was too far away, we were simply too late. We had to take a detour through Val Poyeaux to find a medic to stabilise you on the way. Neither the outpost or the Keep had a mage healer or even, dear Maker, a proper surgeon. Which is just bad organisation, I am telling you. Do you even know how dangerous a position in a scouting operation can be? Lady Nightingale should definitely not--”   
  
“Dorian…. You’re babbling, ma vhenan.” the Altus took a deep breath, his nerves calming only slightly as he attempted to gather himself.   
  
“Did you know that [ enchanted piece of jewelry ](http://dragonage.wikia.com/wiki/Kitty%27s_Collar) you put on for the fun of it is the only thing that kept you alive long enough to ingest the first potion? The mere thought--” His breath hitched as he refused to elaborate. “I couldn’t bring myself to leave your side. What if… What if something happened while I… I couldn’t… I wouldn’t be able to live with myself!” he nearly growled his eyes to the floor, the fingers of his free hand fisted in his hair

Mala Noe’s hold where they were still clutching each-other’s hand tightened.   
  
“Hey, none of that. I am well. Nothing is going to happen, you know it.” Dorian turned his watery smirk towards him, the smile not reaching his eyes.   
  
“ ‘Well’ is not the word I would use, amatus.” he let out a deep sigh with his next breath, visibly attempting to gather his spilt emotions. He looked almost ashamed. “What you must think of me, after this. I did not mean to empty my baggage on you like that, I apologise.”  

“Dorian, no…!” Mala Noe shaked his head, damn the spinning lights. “Creators, stop. Stop apologizing, you did nothing wrong…! You know I would have acted no different. You know it. I am not going to think lowly of you because you bare your soul, we’ve been over this before.” He grumbled in frustration. Wrapping his hand firmly around his middle in an attempt to support his aching ribs  he used his hold on Dorian as leverage, subtly shifting his hip to push himself as upright as possible.   
  
“Amatus, you should not--”

  
“Silence, my turn.” he cut Dorian off, his teeth biting down on his lip to keep the agony in check. In the end, he only managed to pull himself halfway up, practically falling onto Dorian. The man’s arms immediately wrapped around him to keep him steady, a small gasp of worry escaping his lips in his haste and the inquisitor was all too happy to bury his nose in the crook of the Tevinter’s neck. He smelled of Dorian and sweat and ash, with a hint of Fereldan ale underneath. He had forgone his usual preening habits as Mala Noe lay unconscious, it seemed. It was endearing.

“No matter how vulnerable either of us becomes, that is not bad. On the contrary, it is good, ma vhenan, it is impressive. It means trust. Trust is good. Do you trust me, Dorian?” The other mage fumbled for words.  
  
“You know I do.” He could feel the elven lips stretch into a smile against his skin.   
  
“Then you must know that nearly nothing you could do or say, would ever make me doubt you, or think less of your intentions.” he finished in a whisper, completing his point with a soft kiss above Dorian’s clavicle. “I trust you too, you know. With more than my life.” 

The necromancer was silent, his throat tight. He had no words to return, and even if he did he would not know how to use them correctly at the moment. He settled for carefully tightening his embrace, wrapping himself protectively around the frail man. He was visibly overwhelmed. A Tevinter did not often get to hear such words.   
  
“You do know what to say to slither your way into a man’s heart and lodge yourself in there, I see.” Emotion and exhaustion were thick in his words, his small laugh watery. Neither of them acknowledged it, and Dorian was glad, for his manly pride had already taken enough of a blow already.


	2. Mini Dictionary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A small silly dictionary of Dragon Age facts in a nutshell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love this to much to leave it out of my Dragon Age work. Hope you enjoy.

Amatus= beloved  
Ma venhan= my heart

Trade Tongue= Common language   
Tevene= language of the Tevinter Imperium  
Dorian Pavus= sparkly Tevinter necromancer, fab mustache guy. Human, Altus of the Imperium.  
Inquisitor Mala Noe Lavellan= Scarfaced bishounen, collector of trinkets and bad fashion, has a sparkly palm. Elf from tribe Lavellan. Oh, and he has an army. He big shot.  
Sera= foul-mouthed city elf. Despises ‘elfy’ elves.  
Vivienne= Fashionable fabness. Enchanter of the imperial court of Orlais. 

Tevinter Imperium= Known for their evil, secret, blood magic practices. Still have slavery. Kind of destroyed the world a few hundred years ago. Used to worship Dragons. Think they're big shots. Basically Rome. Sparkly fashion is in season.  
Empire of Orlais= France had a child with the Hunger Games Capitol and introduced it to Venetian masks. Fashion Police is probably a thing there.

Val Royeaux= Capital city of Orlais  
Minrathous= Capital city of the Tevinter Imperium

Tevinter Magister= members of the magistrate council  
Tevinter Altus= high born, privileged mages

Spirit Mark spell= spirit enslavement sigil, spirit of target fights for the caster after death. Tis deadmancy. 

The Fade= spirit world. Where magic hails from.  
Rifts= tears to the fabric of reality. Spit demons from the fade to the material plane. Green.  
Demons= corrupted spirits.

The Mark= sparkly scar, controls and closes Rifts. An excuse for the religion people to join my army. Also green.

The Maker= Aka. God. Andraste (Joan of Arc-- I mean of Elves) is his waifu in the sky.  
Andraste= Prophet of the Maker. Tevinter burned her dead.  
Creators= arrogant elven gods.  
Forgotten ones= evil arrogant elven gods.  
Dalish= elves of the Dales. The remnants of the Elvhes (old elves, big immortal shots. They all gone nao (or are they…!).)

The Chantry= the religious organization around the Chant of Light, the teachings of Andraste as the Maker’s prophet-- aka. Church of the Maker. Founded in Orlais. Exists in Tevinter as well, but different.

Lyrium= crystallised magic under the earth. Extracted by dwarves and turned into potions and templar-heroin.  
Red Lyrium= corrupted crystallised magic

Templars= Circle guard-dog-Paladins. Can subdue mages. Get high on Lyrium regularly.   
Red templars= red lyrium zombie army of destruction. 

Circles= glorified prison schools for all mages.

Venatory= evil cult of Tevinter nationalist supremacists.

Spellbinder= Venatori mage. Magicks through a cursed book.  
Stalker= Venatori rogue. Dual daggers.  
Gladiator= Venator fighter. Mace and tower shield.

Corypheus= monstrous ancient Darkspawn. The Venatori are his groupies. 

Darkspawn= Blighted human-monsters.

The Blight= regularly occurring zombie apocalypse. Something to do with corrupted Tevinter Dragon Gods. The result of how Tevinter broke the world. Ask Corypheus.


End file.
